


Good Love Town

by Skull4601 (shiplizard)



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/Skull4601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/87825">Near Miss</a> universe but has no plotty merit. Marcone the mechanic has a bad dream, gets himself a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Love Town

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Near Miss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/87825) by [binz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/binz), [shiplizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard). 



> Written as kind of a porny palate cleanser between chunks of a Dresden gen-fic about zombies. Binz betaed it because I impose on her and she indulges me.

Since my leg went bad, cold is a serious proposition. It gets into my hardware and seizes me up. I'd gotten used to late-night chills getting into my dreams: I have a lot of dreams where I can't run, more than a few where the whole leg is amputated, or worse-- when it's left on, nothing but dead skin to drag and rot behind me.

This dream was cold, but it wasn't focused on my leg, for once-- as much as I knew it was a dream, I was confused at how much the pain was all over. Aching, beaten pain in my arms and over my face: I was tied down, snowed in, assaulted by something, multiple somethings, a low ache throbbing in my left ear. Dream logic said that it was about to be hurt, or had been hurt already, but I lost track of it from moment to moment.

The contrast of nebulous dream-pain with a wide, solid hand on my shoulder made me jerk awake, head rolling. The pain was sudden and real now, a bruised feeling across my face and ear, and my whole body felt solid, gone wooden and stiff.

"Comfy?" Harry asked, with his wide mobile mouth in a goofy, lopsided smile.

I groaned, and pushed myself up from the kitchen table were I'd fallen asleep across the bookkeeping, rubbing the dent that the edge of my big, heavy tax reference book had left in my face, in my ear. I'd been using it as a pillow, and hardbacks are unforgiving.

"Come to bed, little lady," Harry suggested, and cupped his hand under my elbow to help haul me all the way to my feet. "That book-learnin's no good for your pretty little head."

"Fuck you, Princess," I sighed, feeling my face wrinkle up in a contented smile. He was standing straight up, and when I leaned on him, my cheek pressed against his clavicle. "I hurt all over."

"Full contact accounting," he snipped, because he's dismissive of big scary things he doesn't understand.

I made a rude sound at him and stumbled toward our bedroom, stripping out of my clothes as I went, grumbling as I kicked around for a new set of boxers to wear to bed.

"Leave it a minute, John," Harry said, goosing me. "Go lie down on the bed."

"I don't bring home enough money, you have to take it out in trade?" I griped, but he knew I didn't mean it. Some quality sheet-time with my big leggy brunet sounded like just the thing to chase away nightmares about a demon ripping my ear off.

"Pfft." Harry was clanking around in the bathroom. "I'm just making sure you're clean enough to sleep next to. I mean, it's like you've been working in a garage all day or something." He came in with a bucket full of water-- cold, because it was an off week for the water heater (three out of four are off weeks, but who's counting?). He threw a big towel at me. "Put that on the bed, will you?"

I'd just craned over to spread it across our bed when I heard Harry murmur a word and felt the air in the room shift a little, stir as a cold-front wafted through. I looked back, and the bucket of water was steaming.

Maybe tall, skinny, wide-mouthed guys brandishing a sponge and a bucket doesn't swing it for you. I was sweat-grimed and cold, filthy from a full day of work, stiff from a nap on hard furniture in the chill; I went half-hard just looking at him.

Harry grinned. "Wrench in your pocket?"

"I'm not wearing _pants_. Come here." I climbed up onto the towel, kneeling up on my good leg, snapping my fingers at him.

"I don't know. You're kind of grimy..." but he strolled over, and ran his hands over my side. They were warm from the bucket he'd been holding, maybe from doing magic, too. He sighed softly, leaned over my back and kissed my spine.

It was something else, being touched this way, feeling the slow scrape of his stubble across my back and knowing he was sappy in love with me as much as I was with him. It actually did make the sex better, for all I'd always assumed that that was just something they made up to sell Hallmark movies.

I watched him over my shoulder -- shirt-sleeves and too-baggy khakis over all his leg and arm and gangle -- as he soaked the sponge and wrung it out, reached out to run it across my flank like I was a horse he was grooming. The water scraped onto my skin warm and welcome; it cooled quickly, but he was already rasping the sponge over me again. He made quick work of rinsing off my upper body, but lingered on my ass -- he loves my ass -- rinsing it and caressing it and meandering down to my inner thighs.

It felt great, the clean, the heat and the chill, the sweat and the nightmare being swabbed off. But if I'd been half-hard when he started--

"You're a goddamn tease, Harry," I grumbled happily as he swiped the sponge down the crack of my ass.

"How so?" He sounded offended.

I wiggled my rear at him, erect dick swinging drunkenly under my stomach, the best come-hither I could muster with only one leg under me. "You know what I want. And you know my leg can't handle it."

"Golly, John, I don't know if I _do_ know what you want. Glute workout? Bikini wax?"

"See? Tease. Fucking tease." I moaned as he wrapped his body over mine, wiping the sponge down my chest, swiping my nipples erect, scrubbing my stomach, rasping over my erection.

"John." Harry kissed my temple, the grey spot I hate and he loves, and grabbed for something at the head of the bed. A pillow, I realized when he helped me lie down on it. "John. John."

I reached out for him and hooked his neck, pulling him close enough to shut up with my mouth. His tongue worked into my mouth, and he made a soft, happy grunt. "John..."

"How do I shut you UP?"

"You let me get off my punchline, okay?" He leaned close to me, brown eyes liquid, mouth beestung, tousled hair falling over his face. He cleared his throat, and recited: "I'm only a tease if I don't rim you and then screw you senseless."

Okay. Fine. That almost sounded like logic.

So I let him go, let him lie across me like the world's most perverted blanket -- face buried in my ass, erection getting friendly with the crook of my neck, knees to either side of my head -- and then when I was incoherent and begging, feeling as open and empty as mammoth goddamn caverns, then he screwed me senseless.

  
   


Since my leg went bad, warm is a serious proposition. When I lay tangled with him after it was all over, all clean and naked with my ass stretched and well-sore, body limp, my leg nestled carefully on the pillow he'd put under my hips, Harry covered us both over with a blanket. The warm sank into me, down to the bones, into the hardware.

I'm getting used to the warmth in my dreams: the dreams of a black fire that doesn't burn, of two shadows and a whole Indian goddess' worth of arms that wrap around me, protect me. I drifted off to sleep, drooling on the crook of Harry's arms. No more demons that night, no more pain. Just warm.


End file.
